


Sweating Bullets

by caliginousAfterlife



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: AU - no doubles, AU - no respawn, Drabble, Everything else is pretty much the same though, Fluff, M/M, Mild Gore, Slow Build, Smut, Sniperscout - Freeform, loads of feelings, pretty much mentions all the characters, sort of, speeding bullet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliginousAfterlife/pseuds/caliginousAfterlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve got your scope lined up with his temple when you decide to have a sudden reckoning of your morals. What a time to be alive.</p><p>A collection of drabbles revolving around a cliche relationship. Two bad neither of the participants have read Romeo and Juliet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. Monsters and Morals

 

_**The Sniper** _

You’ve got your target lined up with his temple when you decide to have a sudden reckoning of morals. What a time to be alive.  

With the aid of your scope, you can see the youthfulness of his round face crystal clear - thick brown hair, the liveliness in his eyes, the pep in his step. It makes your stomach twist in knots and your trigger finger starts to feel doubtful in return. He’s not like the rest of you guys.

He’s not ready to die.

He’s a part of Blu team, so naturally your first instinct would be to pull the trigger you’re payed to pull, but he’s the newest addition; so fresh to the action that this is the first time you’ve seen him in person, and you can’t imagine him a day over the age of eighteen. Honestly, you don’t care if he is or isn’t. Something feels off. You don’t like how he ties knots in your intestines.      

You reluctantly take your finger off the trigger, but continue to watch him through your scope, admittedly a little curious about how someone so young and lively wound up in a place like this with blood stains on his baseball bat. Taking a deep drag from the cigarette hanging from your chapped lips, you search your whiskey-fogged memories for any information Miss Pauling might have provided about him. He was the Scout, you recall after a long minute, and he was a fool, but not something to be underestimated. Fast, quiet, and deadly. That’s how she had described him. She had most definitely failed to mention the part where he was barely of age. Based on that baby face, fresh outta high school.

You don’t know why you’re worried about this stranger. Better yet, you don’t know why you’re worried about this _enemy_ , but you’re sleep deprived and your brain is fried from the intense desert sun, and you’d rather not have a total epiphany in the middle of a job like this where your life is on the line and blood is on your hands, so you pretend you didn’t see him there and take out one of his comrades instead. The Scout dives behind a structure before the Demoman’s body even hits the ground. 

Miss Pauling wasn’t kidding when she said the little squirt was a fast one.


	2. II.‘How to Look Like an Idiot 101’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think about how many times he's saved you, and suddenly him being the one to end your pathetic life starts to make sense. Or you think it makes sense. Maybe it doesn’t. You’re not gonna lie, you’ve lost a lot of blood.

_**The Scout** _

The turret catches you off guard. It also shoots you twice in the leg.

A fair amount of adrenaline forces you over a pile of rotting wood and out of immediate danger, providing you with the time to swear loudly and bleed all over yourself before pain and panic begin to set in. The turret isn’t quite done though. It releases another round into the wood structure at your back before losing track and giving up.

So, The Sniper had backup. It was honestly pretty dumb of you to assume Sniper wouldn’t have some sort of back up. You can see him across the dusty roof top. His rifle is aimed directly at you, but like always, his trigger finger is still. He glances away from his scope and meets your gaze and you think for a second that he actually looks disappointed.   

Honestly? You were kind of glad. You had been pulled aside and asked personally to get rid of Sniper by the ever-lovely Miss Pauling. Her motive was clear. With your speed and stamina it would be almost impossible for Sniper to keep you in his sights long enough to get a clean kill-shot. Your fucked up brain couldn’t help but conclude that it would be a cakewalk - you could practically see his blood running thick through the gravel - and that was exactly what you had told her, but guilt caught hold of your gut and you couldn’t help but feel reluctant about agreeing. Not that disagreeing was much of an option in a position like this. You woke up that very morning sick to your stomach from the idea. Sniper would live and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. The burn of failure sears your insides and you can feel stomach acid bubbling threateningly at the base of your esophagus. You swallow it down around the knot in your throat in an attempt to save yourself the embarrassment of dying in a puddle of your own vomit.

Over the course of a week you counted being directly in his line of fire a total of four times, five including this exact minute, yet he never shot you. Rookie accidents were one thing, but when you stood out in front of his gun and commanded that he shoot you, you finally came to the understanding that, for some reason, he had it in his best intention to keep you alive. That being said, taking on the job of personally putting him six feet under was going to be, admittedly, a little rough on your conscious. You mean, you’d killed loads of people, especially during the duration of this job, but two-faced? _A double-crosser?_ You typically liked to leave all that shady shit in the Spy’s hands.

This left you very unsure of where your alliance laid, mostly due to one of your regular three-am-and-about-to-fall-asleep realizations that sparing Sniper was technically double-crossing the team, but killing him was breaking this sort of unspoken contract the two of you had. It was like, bro code or something. _“Thou shall not kill thine savior”_ or some shit. You weren’t necessarily sure, it was all a rather hairy situation, but it was safe to say this dude earned a few extra life points. He saved your ass after all and you tend to take that shit very seriously.

Still, you didn’t like his attitude, and his resistance to fighting you was probably the most annoying thing in the world. You hold his gaze for a long moment as you work through your moral dilemma and simultaneously strategize the best way to take this turret out. All this thinking is not your forte, and Sniper staring directly at you through his stupid orange sunglasses is not helping you focus on what you’re doing. You don’t hesitate to flip him off. If he’s not gonna help you he might as well just kill you himself. It’s not like you’ll be returning to headquarters ever again, anyway, alive at least.

He’s still pretty far, but, not far enough to where you can’t see the five o’clock shadow, the frown lines around his dry lips, the cigarette in his hands. You’ve never been this close to him before. You don’t really have the time to waste glaring at him, but you do and you try not to let your eyes linger over his rugged features because it starts to do weird things to your chest and especially, your brain. .

Okay, Scout. Get your shit together, buddy.

You tell yourself but, again, the thinking thing isn’t something you’re all that good at so you decide to scratch the idea of thinking at all and take a deep breath. Most people consider your lifestyle reckless. You prefer the word courageous. Funny how a little change of perspective can make it that much easier. Sometimes you're even able to trick yourself into believing you’re making good decisions.  

You decide you’ve delayed this dying thing a little bit longer than you would have liked to and throw every fragment of respect for yourself to the wind, edge out from behind your cover, and follow through with your suicide mission. You manage to shoot the turret down, but not before it blows another bullet through the main artery in your forearm.

Another fucking hole to bleed out of. Just your luck.     

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place and you’re not liking it. You’re bleeding out at an astounding rate, you’ve got a sniper aimed directly at your face, and honestly, you can’t see this going in any direction in which you might survive. So, you’re going to die before you can really prove yourself and that sucks. More than anything, you’re pretty damn embarrassed by it, but that emotion is forgotten when the ever-powerful feeling of utterly hating yourself surfaces from that dark place in your mind. This is the grand premiere of ‘ _How to Look Like an Idiot 101_ ’. Better yet, ‘ _How to Be A Massive Disappointment In the Eyes of Your Peers_ ’ starring the one and only, Scout. Your breathing has been limited to shallow huffs and strings of swear words. You’re brain is getting hazy and you have to do something about the bleeding. If you’re being honest right now, and you definitely are, this moment being your dying last breath and all that other romanticized bullshit, you totally forgot about Sniper. Shit.

You think for a second that you can probably redeem yourself if you take him out in your dying moments, but he’s not at his perch where you last saw him and your gun hand is trembling so hard you doubt you would have been able to land a kill-shot anyway.    

A tall shadow envelopes you and suddenly he’s there, standing over you. He kicks the gun out of your shaking hand, knocks your trusty baseball bat out of arm’s reach, and continues to confuse the everloving shit out of you by the minute.

“ _Shit_.” You repeat your thoughts out loud and you’re not at all disappointed that it’ll be your last word. You think about how many times he's saved you, and suddenly him being the one to end your pathetic life starts to make sense. Or you think it makes sense. Maybe it doesn’t. You’re not gonna lie, you’ve lost a lot of blood.  

“Shit is right.” He says and you can’t help but notice his lack of weapons. _**  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys, I'm changing my Archive account!! Although it won't be up right away, I plan on revising _Sweating Bullets_ and reposting it on my new account.

You can find my new profile at 

http://archiveofourown.org/users/fl0wersf0rever

 

(also you should all follow my blog,   www.fl0wersf0rever.tumblr.com  ))


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